


Coming Home

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2019-01-20 21:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12442506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: Future fic. Contains spoilers up to Touched.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Hils, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Death-Marked Love](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Death-Marked_Love). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Death-Marked Love collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/deathmarkedlove/profile).

She was rarely ever surprised to the point of being speechless. Too angry to get words out, yes. But not shocked silent. She stared at him dumbstruck for a moment, watching the way the sunlight made the black leather look out of place.

He shifted his weight from side to side. Glancing back and forth between her astonished look and the worn-out floor boards of her front porch. He’d always been twitchy. Some things never change.

He didn’t look different. He had the same hair that she’d run her fingers through a hundred times in reality and a thousand times in her fantasies. His face was still as expressive as always. His heart was on his sleeve, ready for anyone to steal or break. Today, he was searching for answers, just enough that he could move on knowing he tried.

His cheeks might have a bit more colour than usual, or what his usual was five years ago when she saw him last. She reached out a touched under his chin with her finger. She guided his head, left and right. No significant difference in those perfect cheek bones.

Her finger remained there until the temperature of his skin began to register, then she pulled away too quickly.

“Slayer?” He sounded naked, reminding her of a another time, a different apocalypse. He sounded terrified.

“You’re human.”

He didn’t answer. It wasn’t really a question, anyway.

She touched his cheek again. It was all wrong, too much heat under that ageless skin.

It suddenly occurred to her that her doorway was not where she wanted to have this conversation. “Why don’t you come in?”

Spike smiled warmly at the invitation he no longer needed. The smile had a sincerity to it that she’d never seen, or at least she’d never chosen to remember.

“And Angel?” She felt herself wince as she said it, though, whether it was because of his pain or hers she wasn’t sure.

He didn’t flinch though, simply diverted his eyes, implying far off thoughts. “Wes found him a few days ago.” He obviously hoped that would suffice.

“And?” Buffy knew if Spike wasn’t forthcoming with information, it was likely bad. The whole situation was overwhelming. It was reminiscent of dreams that spin off in directions you know are not possible, but are far too real for you not to believe.

“And what? What do you want to know? Exactly how broken is he?” It wasn’t her he was mad at, she reminded herself. A bit of attitude was simply the price of the information. She let him continue without a rebuttal or punch in his fragile, human nose. Although, her palms itched for it.

“He lost his compass. This was to be his prize.” He lifted his hands up. She assumed he meant this moment, the conversation. He clarified. “you, actually. You were to be his prize. And now I have it. Well this anyway.” He reached out his hand so that it hit the sunlight peaking through the currents.

He gawked at it for a minute and pulled it back. He had changed. Or at least she saw him differently. He was a hero, albeit a reluctant one. The powers saw fit to reward him, and not Angel, with humanity. A ‘purely selfless act,’ Wes had said. At the time she didn’t understand but now seeing him talk of the reward that wasn’t his as if it pained him to accept it in Angel’s place, he was a man at the end of his journey. This might have been how she looked in the days following the battle with the First Evil. Complete, almost.

She softened her stance and walked over. Looking at him felt like coming home. Her life was never normal, nor would it ever be. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy or feel at peace. It didn’t mean she couldn’t love.

“He didn’t lose his soul, or anything. It was just a bit much for him and he took off. But like I said, no harm no foul. He’ll find another way. Prophecies always creeping up out of nowhere.” He wasn’t looking at her anymore. Likely too afraid to see the love for another man in her eyes.

“Spike?” She took his hand in hers. Lifting the hand to her cheek, she caressed it softly. His eyes held hers in a soft, sweet gaze. “William. You earned this. Angel didn’t. You don’t need to feel guilty.” She placed a chaste kiss on his forehead and let her head rest against his. “I’m proud of you.”

They were home.


End file.
